Redeye Flight
by The Mad Fangirl
Summary: X-Over - I-Man and The Crow: Stairway to Heaven. Fawkes and Hobbes trail a tiger to Port Columbia and run into a whole different animal. Pre-Season 2.
1. Redeye Flight - 0/8

0/8  
  
Title: Redeye Flight  
Category: X-Over, Crow: Stairway to Heaven  
Rating: Strong PG-13 for violence.  
Author: The Mad Fangirl  
  
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned herein and make no money from   
their shameless exploitation  
  
Author's note:  
For me, before there was I-Man, there was the Crow. Not J O'Barr's original   
bloody avenger, though I like him too, nor, eventually, Brandon Lee's seminal,   
final role. Rather, there was the television Crow inhabited by Marc Dacascos,   
syndicated in 1998 and 1999, and given an afterlife in a year and a day by the   
Scifi Channel. This was my last great fandom crush. When it was cancelled, I   
mourned. I swore I'd never love a show like that again. Fast forward two   
years. Well, like Spike said, "I may be love's bitch, but at least I'm man   
enough to admit it."  
  
Caveat lector: This fanfic references the specific mythology of the Crow:STH   
television program, which featured an expansion of the world of the original   
Crow, Eric Draven, set in the very Vancouver-esque Port Columbia, Washington.   
I've jumped the series ahead in time a little so that it corresponds with I-Man,   
post-Season-1, pre-Season-2. This 'fic takes place approximately one month   
following the events in the Crow series finale (? - more on this later), A   
Gathering Storm, in which the Crow spirit and the human soul were forcibly   
separated, then reunited in an act of sacrifice by Eric's late beloved. Without   
a soul to temper him, the Crow was a verrry bad boy. Other Crow episodes   
referenced include "Brother's Keeper" (yes, they did one too; I'm hoping this   
can serve as a prologue to the upcoming I-Man ep, but time will tell - had this   
mostly written before the spoilers came out,) and "Closing Time." One more   
thing: in the show, the makeup comes on by itself.  
  
Crow Episode Help: http://www.scifi.com/thecrow/episodes.html. Shameless Fangirl   
Plug: You can see the Crow most Sundays at 11 AM on SciFi, and on the occasional   
Monday Superheroland marathon.  
  
Credits: Much love, respect, and thanks to my beta readers Underdog and   
Invisible Sun.  
  
Enjoy ....  
--'Mad  
  
* * *  
Teaser:  
  
There once was a story about a man who could turn invisible...  
People say that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the   
dead...  
  
I thought it was only a story, until it happened to me...  
But sometimes, something so bad happens that a terrible sadness is carried with   
it.  
  
The operation was a success.  
And sometimes, only sometimes, the crow can bring that soul back to set things   
right.  
  
And that's where everything started to go wrong.  
Things can never be right. I can never rest until we are together  
  
Redeye Flight  
By The Mad Fangirl  
  



	2. Redeye Flight - 1/8

  
There once was a story about a man who could turn invisible...  
People say that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the   
dead...  
  
I thought it was only a story, until it happened to me...  
But sometimes, something so bad happens that a terrible sadness is carried with   
it.  
  
The operation was a success.  
And sometimes, only sometimes, the crow can bring that soul back to set things   
right.  
  
And that's where everything started to go wrong.  
Things can never be right. I can never rest until we are together  
  
Redeye Flight  
By The Mad Fangirl  
  
* * *  
1/8  
  
//A native Port Columbian songwriter once sang, "It can't rain all the time."   
Having spent some time in the city previously, I couldn't believe he was really   
from there. Port Columbia was, in my recollection, a wet, unpleasant place to   
be, but that recollection might have been colored by the fact that most of my   
time spent there had actually been in the local jail. The charges didn't stick,   
and I didn't stick around. So, of course, the Fat Man sent me back, bringing to   
mind another song by the same group. "You can only fly so high before you have   
to come down."//  
  
"All right. Cost's one thing, but you'd think Uncle Charlie'd have some concern   
for our effectiveness."  
  
"Meaning?"  
  
"Meaning why the hell did he have to stick us on the redeye?"  
  
"Fat man probably liked the irony."  
  
"You may have a point."  
  
"We're just lucky we didn't go Greyhound."  
  
"Also a good point."  
  
"Mmm-hmm."  
  
Darien Fawkes stretched his legs, or tried to. The modern 737 just wasn't   
designed for a man over 6 feet tall. Bobby Hobbes had an easier time of it. At   
below the average height of the American male, he was almost comfortable.   
Almost. He shifted. The plane flew through a cloud and hit a touch of   
turbulence. Darien started but Hobbes just sighed and looked out into the grey.  
  
"Y'know, Hobbes, I'm proud. Surprised, but proud. You fly better than me."  
  
"Well, my friend, I will admit I have my share of neuroses, *but* there's one   
thing you have that I don't, which makes you and not me more inclined to be a   
poor flyer."  
  
Darien looked at him. "What, pray tell?"  
  
"Control issues. Not that I blame you, but you've got to learn to let go.   
Relax, accept."  
  
"You're heavily medicated, aren't you?"  
  
"Maybe."  
  
The plane bumped again. "What was that?"  
  
"Landing gear, Fawkes. Relax. Breathe. Focus on the mission. Someone here has   
a Siberian tiger as a pet, no permit on file. That's not kosher. We found her   
prospective mate back home, on his way to a rendezvous. He was headed here, so   
we find the lucky lady, and we . . ."  
  
"We what? Bring her back in first class?"  
  
"We tell animal control. And the local F&G. When we have the perp."  
  
Fawkes shifted, maneuvering his hands behind his head. "And for that, the   
bossman springs for an airplane. I don't buy it. This isn't just paying rent."  
  
"I got a few theories," Hobbes allowed.  
  
"What's the front-runner?"  
  
"You don't wanna know." Hobbes saw Darien bristle, and put up a mollifying   
hand. "Look, you know how my mind works. No need to make you paranoid too,   
right? Least, not yet, okay?" Darien relaxed in his seat, and Hobbes did   
likewise. //And that, my friend, is called damage control.//  
  
Bobby opened his mouth to continue, but was interrupted by something he'd grown   
used to, a disembodied voice. Only, in this case, it wasn't Darien's. It was   
their captain speaking.   
  
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Port Columbia. We'll be on the ground in   
approximately 10 minutes. Local time is 4:00 am, temperature a balmy 40   
degrees, and yes, it is raining." There came groans from the tourists and   
laughter from the returning natives. "Also, this will be our final stop, as I   
get to sleep in my own bed tonight. As a hometown boy, may I remind all of you   
to root for our NBA Ravens when they play the Cascade Jags Friday night. On   
three. One, two, three . . . "  
  
The airplane thundered with "Kill the Jags!"  
  
"Very good. Flight attendants, stow the parachutes and secure the cabin for   
arrival."  
  
"Ha ha," muttered Fawkes.   
  
"Relax. Breathe."  
  
* * *  
  
The plane landed without incident, and the pilot left first. As he retrieved   
both carry-on bags from the overhead compartment, Darien supposed there might be   
one or two Jags fans on the plane; Cascade wasn't that far away. The two agents   
extended their luggage handles and rolled towards the exit, hailing a cab. An   
odd tingle of recognition zapped through Darien's exhausted brain, but it took   
him a minute down the road to place the driver with the long brown hair.  
  
"Chris Draven! Holy crap!"  
  
The driver braked with a squeal, causing Hobbes to mutter something more   
colorful. He turned in his seat. "Fawkes? Fawkes! It's you! Man, Liz said   
you went straight too. I said I'd believe it when I saw it . . ."  
  
"Hey look, partner," Hobbes said, "I hate to break up Old Cellmates Week, but   
man, it's four AM . . ."  
  
"I hear ya," the driver said, and started again. "You really did it, huh?   
Hooked up with the feds? Sweet deal!"  
  
"Yeah. Peachy. Chris, man, it's good to see you, but here? You said you'd   
never come back long as your brother was . . ." Darien stopped.  
  
"Alive. Yeah." There was silence for several beats from the driver's seat.   
"Look, I hashed things out with Eric." His gravelly voice was sober.  
  
"Glad to hear it," Darien said seriously. "Sometimes you never know how much   
they mean to you until . . ."   
  
"They're gone. Yeah. Look, I'm sorry, man. Liz told me about Kevin. I know .   
. . I mean, I know it can't be easy."  
  
"I get by. It's been a year, I'm dealing. But you're right." Darien sighed.   
"It's not easy."  
  
The cab arrived at a nondescript Motel 6. It was Hobbes' turn to sigh,   
sleepily.   
  
"Hey, you asked for it," the driver said.  
  
"Yeah," Fawkes confirmed. "It's pretty much the only place covered by our   
expense account."  
  
"You remember that sweet deal bit? I take it back."  
  
"Chris, if you only knew." Fawkes elbowed Hobbes, whose eyelids had started to   
drift closed of their own volition. "C'mon partner."  
  
Hobbes shook himself, waking up enough to grab his luggage. Fawkes did the   
same, paying the fare and pressing a big tip into Chris' hands. As Hobbes moved   
ahead, Chris held Darien back for a second.  
  
"Look, you're going to think I'm a nut, but, man, about Kevin," He took a   
breath. "I've seen some things that, look, there's better places out there for   
us, okay? I think he's gotta be in one of 'em. It's not the end, you know?   
Not really."  
  
Darien smiled slightly. "It's not nuts. Thanks." He pulled out the suitcase   
handle, and followed his partner.   
  
//I'll admit, I thought it was bizarre. Chris Draven, a self-centered small   
time con man, going straight and finding God? But to paraphrase myself, If I   
only knew. And to fracture the Bard, there are more things out there than   
Heaven and Earth, period. I was about to find that out for myself.//  
  
* * *  
  
The sun, soon to rise, had set again through the broken window - now,   
indubitably, only a window and nothing more. That had been its status quo for   
over a month. Nothing but glass and lead since Shelly had welded Eric back   
together with his barren other half, losing, in the process, her tenuous   
connection to him on this plane. Eric considered the jagged glass as the first   
drops of Washington's fall rain hit his face. He stood for a second,   
motionless, then turned, water whipping from his long black hair.  
  
//Have to make sure there's plastic on that if Sarah's gonna be comfortable   
here,// he thought. The black bird chose that moment to make an appearance,   
cruising over his head and getting him wetter. It called once and perched on   
his mirror. //I hope she comes by.// It was a new thing, trying to live   
without the hope of Shelly in this world, or the desperate drive to reach the   
next. Shelly had made sure to take that last when she'd given him back the   
Crow.   
  
But Sarah was worth living for on her own. //A thirteen-year-old kid's my best   
friend. Go figure.// Even if it wasn't living, as such. "Sarah, Darryl,   
Shae," he listed out loud,  
  
"And Chris." Not his voice.  
  
Eric spun. "Dad?"  
  
It wasn't, though. It was a tall, bookish man with sandy hair and glasses.  
  
"Not quite, but we've met."  
  
Eric considered the man, his quality of voice, his appearance. The blood on his   
shirt. The fact that he'd entered the loft unseen.  
  
"But you are dead, aren't you?"  
  
"Pot to kettle?" the ghost replied.  
  
"Who are you? How do you know my dad?"  
  
"You don't know me. And considering I died a year ago, give or take, where do   
you think I'd know him from?"  
  
"Do you have a message?"  
  
"That he loves you, but you knew that. This isn't about him. This is about you   
and me."  
  
"I don't know you."  
  
"No. But we have a lot in common." The man walked across the loft and Eric,   
immune to cold, felt a chill. "We're the older brothers. We're the responsible   
ones. Our brothers made the same bad choices. And when they needed us, we died   
on them."  
  
"So what do you want? Absolution? Chris made his own choices. He made me   
realize that. Understanding? Maybe that I can give you." Eric held out a   
hand and prepared to open his soul.  
  
"Not going to be that easy. I'm dead. You have nothing of mine. But you will   
soon."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"My brother's coming your way. Or you're coming his. Look after him, will you?   
I can't. I can't, and it's all my fault. They need you to save them from what   
I've made."  
  
"Look, who . . ."  
  
"You'll know him when you don't see him. I have to leave. Guilt and a   
desecrated grave only count for so much around here." And although Eric hadn't   
been blinking, the man was gone in the blink of an eye. There came a knock at   
the door.  
  
It wasn't lonely. Sarah, outside, beat a tattoo on the door, and between beats   
shouted, "Hey, Eric, you home? Hey, it's me! Hey - Hey!" she shouted as Eric   
swung open the door, picking her up bodily and spinning her.  
  
He set her down. "Hey yourself."  
  
"So, what's been going on?"  
  
"Well . . . " Eric sat back on his haunches. "I had a ghost visit me today."  
  
"Really? He still here? Not that I'd see him," she added, surreptitiously   
glancing around the room anyway. "Hey, you're not gonna start convulsing again,   
are you?"  
  
Eric smiled a little. "Not unless somebody starts beating up my little brother   
again. And I don't think that's the deal this time."  
  
"So what is?"  
  
He frowned. "I don't really know yet. Why are the dead always so damned   
cryptic?"  
  
The thirteen-year-old shot him a funny look. "I dunno. You tell me."  
  
"Oh, ha, ha."  
  
"Well, seriously, it's like the pot calling the kettle black."  
  
"Yeah, that's what he said."  
  
"Figures." Sarah walked around her friend, and finally crouched to his left,   
mirroring his posture. "But if you saw a ghost, that means we're gonna get some   
action."  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"You okay with that? What if you go all . . ."  
  
"I don't want to think about it. "  
  
"But it's okay now, right? The moves plus the conscience? Body *and* soul,   
right?"  
  
"Look, I really don't want to think about it. I'm gonna keep it together,   
okay?"  
  
Sarah sighed. "Okay. Fine."  
  
"Now, look, sun's coming up. You better get to school."  
  
"In a sec," Sarah said. "Here. Brought you a paper. I figured, no TV, you   
gotta know what's going on somehow."  
  
"Hey, I do make enough to buy newspapers."  
  
"Yeah? Where are they?"  
  
"Umm, I recycle?"  
  
"Nice try." Sarah spread out the front page on the floor. "Man mauled by   
tiger. Cool."  
  
The black bird cawed and hopped to the paper. Black wings shed a drop of water   
on the corner of the page. Sarah looked up at Eric, meeting his dark eyes.  
  
"Whaddaya wanna bet Darryl pulled that case?"  
  
"No dice," Eric replied. "Looks like I get to work today."  
  
"You work nights. Guess it works out if you don't sleep."  
  
"Guess so. C'mon. Get your helmet on and I'll give you a ride."  
  
"I'll get helmet hair."  
  
"Sarah . . ."  
  
"You never wear one."  
  
"Yeah, and look what happened to me."  
  
"Man, I *knew* that was the wrong way to go." But Sarah smiled, and Eric had   
the feeling she'd let him win.   
  
"Let's get you to school. I've gotta see a man about a cat."  
  
* * *  



	3. Redeye Flight - 2/8

  
* * *  
2/8  
  
Darien sat straight up in bed, breathing rapidly, eyes open wide. A nightmare.   
He couldn't remember which one. It might have been the one with Arnaud, or the   
old one that kept replaying, with Kevin . . . that one never went away.   
Whichever it had been, he wasn't getting back to sleep tonight.  
  
"Finally up, sleeping beauty?" This from Hobbes, on the other twin bed.  
  
"Hobbes?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Hobbes, did I say anything?"  
  
"What, you mean like 'Oh, Kate?' or 'Oh, Leila?' or 'Oh, Claire?'"  
  
"Look, get out of Naughtyville for one second?"  
  
"No, Fawkes, you didn't say anything." Actually, he'd screamed his brother's   
name, but Hobbes thought mentioning this would do no good at all. "You did,   
however, snore, as usual, and loud enough to wake the dead. Good thing it's   
what passes for morning in these parts."  
  
"It is?"  
  
"Yeah," and Hobbes swung his body off the bed, revealing himself to be fully   
dressed. "You didn't think I'd let someone with your hair-care needs shower   
first, did you?"  
  
So Darien showered, and gelled, and moussed, and blow-dried. By then, Bobby   
Hobbes had already grabbed the keys to the rental car from the front desk, where   
the car service had left them. He walked back to the room, noticing that it was   
drizzling, and flipped on the news.  
  
A woman, hair windblown, was addressing the camera. ". . . grisly animal attack   
. . . jogger mauled . . .local estate owner kept tigers . . . escaped female . .   
."  
  
"Aw, crap. Fawkes! Change of plans."  
  
* * *  
  
When Fawkes and Hobbes made the crime scene, the detective in charge was talking   
to a man in a long black coat. The dark-haired man moved away as he saw the two   
agents approach, and Hobbes made note of a possible witness. The man seemed to   
be hanging around - for all they knew, he was Vice. It'd fit, considering who   
likely owned the tiger.   
  
"Agent Hobbes, Agent Fawkes, Fish and Game," he said, indicating the correct   
parties.  
  
"Darryl Albrecht, Homicide," the detective replied. Hobbes looked him up and   
down. Black, average height, average weight, and something in his stance that   
said "professional" better than any title. Then, too, there was something in   
his eyes, something that said he'd seen his share of what nobody should. Hobbes   
thought the cabbie last night had had a similar look in his eyes, and wondered   
if it was this city, more than just the job. He'd have to ask Darien; after   
all, he'd spent some time here. Or done some time here. Whatever. The   
detective continued.  
  
"So what brings you to our fair city? Keeping tigers as pets is pretty unwise,   
obviously," Albrecht indicated the crime scene, "And it looks like since the cat   
got out, there was criminal negligence in this case, 'least that's what I'm   
guessing the D.A.'s going to push. Still, it's not necessarily illegal."  
  
"Ah-ah. That's where you'd be wrong, my friend. If, in fact, this tiger was an   
endangered Siberian, as was its intended mate, whom we nabbed in San Diego, then   
the owner is probably breaking the law. We'll need to check the place out to   
make sure, but we think this guy didn't have either the proper facilities or   
permits."  
  
"'Course, first," Fawkes pointed out, "we should probably find the cat."  
  
"Weren't expecting to have to track the kitty, were you? Just nail the owner on   
a violation, get another chink in his armor for the Feds?"  
  
"Are we that transparent?" Fawkes asked. Hobbes shot him a look.  
  
"Hey, the only big cat fan up here is St. Germaine, and you all are looking at   
him hard as we are." Albrecht raised his eyebrows. "You did know he makes   
designer drugs, right? That was the whole point?"  
  
"Yeah, look, that might've been the deal," Fawkes allowed, and Hobbes shot him   
another look, "but I think it's pretty much gone to crap now, 'cause this cat is   
out there and she's not happy. They were bringing in a mate . . . you think   
maybe it's her time of the month?"  
  
"Crap."  
  
"You said it."  
  
"Girl's gotta have it."  
  
"And she ain't gonna get it."  
  
"Not a happy kitty."  
  
Hobbes noticed the detective looking a little impatient, so he moved things   
along. "Hey, so, if we can talk to your witness, there, we'll get moving." He   
angled toward the long-haired man in the trench. "Hey, you!"  
  
The man cocked his head in a "Who, me?" gesture, and Hobbes and Fawkes both   
nodded.  
  
Albrecht turned as the man approached. "Oh, him? He's not a . . ."  
  
Darien was eyeing the man as if trying to place him. As the guy approached,   
Hobbes said, "If he's not a witness, then . . ."  
  
"Um, I'm a tracker," the dark-haired, dark-eyed man said. "Think I can help you   
pin that tiger down."  
  
Hobbes was about to ask his name, since he hadn't volunteered, when Fawkes   
supplied it. "Eric Draven. I knew I'd seen you somewhere. Chris had your   
picture."  
  
At this, Eric snapped alert, focusing all his attention on Fawkes. It was a   
disconcerting regard, even from the sidelines. So this was the cabbie's   
brother. Intense guy. Small world. And Albrecht, for his part, was as focused   
on Draven. Hobbes suddenly got a partner vibe from the two, the same sort of   
synch he felt when he and Fawkes were really clicking. Now that was odd.  
  
"You know my brother?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Where from?"  
  
"Mutual acquaintances. Lots of mutual acquaintances. Plus, he drove us in from   
the airport."  
  
Eric removed a motorcycle glove from his right hand and reached out. There was   
a strange sense of expectation. "Yeah, I'm Eric. Any friend of Chris . . ." As   
he shook Fawkes' hand, the intensity seemed to dissipate. Hobbes thought he saw   
the man's eyelids flicker.  
  
"Darien Fawkes," the same said, letting go. "So, tracker, huh? You any good?"  
  
"Nah, not really." A black bird cawed, then flew from the trees to land on his   
shoulder. It mantled for a second, wings out, then blinked. Draven smiled.   
"He's great, though."  
  
Fawkes looked at the crow. "Cool."  
  
Hobbes, meanwhile, was on the phone. "Claire? Where you at? The *where?*   
Figures. Hey, we're gonna need tranqs - you heard? You are? Great. That   
other thing? A few hours? I don't know - fine, last I checked."  
  
Two inquisitive looks, one neutral. "OK, that was our doc. She's got tranq   
guns for us, 'case we run into the big fuzzball. You guys wanna come?"  
  
"Nah. Look, Eric's gonna go, um, track the tiger. Regular animal control will   
coordinate through me. I'll keep you guys updated, 'kay?" Albrecht didn't wait   
long - Bobby barely managed to nod.  
  
"Meet you at the owner's ... " he called after the detective, getting a slight   
head turn as acknowledgement. As Albrecht left with the tall man, Hobbes   
looked up at his partner. "Seems nice, but man, something's a little hinky."  
  
"Hinky. That anything like wonky?"  
  
"They're very similar. It's - well, those two have worked together before.   
Bobby Hobbes can see the ties that bind, mi amigo. And that bird kinda creeped   
me out."  
  
"I thought it was cool. Still, there's something off about Chris' brother. I   
mean, besides the fact that Chris said he just played guitar."  
  
"Helluva coincidence, don't you think, running into your old con buddy and his   
brother on the same day?"  
  
Fawkes looked at his partner, and Hobbes was proud of the kid when he responded,   
"No such thing."  
  
* * *  
  
Darryl Albrecht walked Draven back to his motorcycle, the crow sitting quietly   
on Eric's shoulder. "All cell-phone numbers accounted for . . . OK, you wanna   
tell me why you had to read the guy? 'Cause that's what you were doing, right?"  
  
"Yeah. Look, I didn't get a chance to tell you why I showed up here . . ."  
  
"Just figured it was the usual bird-sponsored weirdness."   
  
"Not usual. Not that anything ever is . . ."  
  
"Tell me about it."  
  
"Well, there's ghosts involved again."  
  
Albrecht rolled his eyes. "Oh, *great.* Who?"  
  
"I think . . . I think it's that Fawkes guy's brother. Mainly because I saw him   
in the loft this morning, and then, when I took Darien's hand, I felt him take   
six shots to the chest."  
  
"Some gift you've got there."  
  
"Look, I didn't ask for this psychometry of the dead act. You . . . you got a   
problem with me using it?" He sounded suddenly unsure. Albrecht looked his   
friend up and down.  
  
"You never used to be this deferential. Is this because it brings you closer to   
being . . . "  
  
"Him. Look, if you - I mean, I - Oh, hell. How can you just work with me like   
I didn't beat the crap out of you?" Eric's eyes were wider than usual.   
  
"Damn it, Draven, it wasn't you and I know that. I was there, remember? You   
got split in half, and it was pure vengeance and rage that took me down. It   
wore your shape but *it wasn't you.*"  
  
"Yeah, but it's back inside me now. I remember . . . everything. Both sides.   
I remember loving the freedom." His voice was desolate.  
  
"Look," Albrecht said, speaking low and rapidly, "what you are, what I've always   
known you to be, has always been tempered by your conscience. I trust you. I   
trust all of you, barring another freak mystical accident. Now, since a crime   
scene is neither the time nor the place for this discussion, let's get moving.   
I've got a jogger-eating tiger to catch, not to mention its owners to arrest,   
hopefully soon. You in?"  
  
A flash of the old Eric showed when he said, "Hey, I came to help you out."  
  
"Then I guess you're in."  
  
* * *  
  
"And we're in," said Hobbes, taking the ticket from the machine and driving   
under the arm. The rental car, a powder-blue van nearly identical to the brown   
piece of history languishing in San Diego, cleared it with an inch to spare.   
"Claire's hotel, of course, has a parking garage. Life is not fair."  
  
"This is news?"  
  
Hobbes made no comment as they proceeded into the Port Columbia Ritz, and up to   
the Keeper's suite. Upon entering, Darien spun slowly, taking in the   
surroundings, casing the room automatically.  
  
"Sweet."  
  
"Yes, it is," said the Keeper, emerging from the adjoining bedroom, and walking   
to the makeshift lab she'd set up on the breakfast table. "I hope you boys   
don't mind. I needed the extra room."  
  
"Not to mention the room service."  
  
"Green is very unbecoming on you, Darien," Claire replied. "Which reminds me.   
Arm?" Darien held out his right wrist, showing seven red segments.  
  
"Only one more than your last check-in. Good boy."  
  
"Woof." Fawkes disengaged and moved to sit by the window.  
  
"Plus," she continued, "I should have another batch ready shortly."  
  
"How shortly is shortly?"  
  
"No worries, Bobby. Within the day, since I was lucky enough to get some lead   
time."  
  
Hobbes responded with a yawn, which he stifled as he snuck a glance at Darien.   
Said Invisible Man had pushed back a gauze curtain and was staring out over the   
industrial port town.   
  
"Everything okay there, partner?" Hobbes joined Fawkes at the window. He put   
his hand on the back of Darien's chair and leaned slightly, his weight   
signifying his presence.  
  
"I dunno, Hobbes." Darien spoke softly. "For some reason I've got Kevin on the   
brain. Don't know why - we were never here together. Hell, I was barely here   
for a few months before I got popped. It was supposed to be a working   
vacation." He sighed. "Maybe it was running into Chris and his brother. Got   
me thinking they were lucky. They had time to work things out."  
  
"Hey, look. Nobody ever gets to say everything they need to. We gotta keep   
going, trust they knew how we feel. Know how we felt. Whatever, y'know. But,   
look, if you need to talk, I'm here, okay. 'My friend' isn't just   
conversational filler, my friend."  
  
"I'm okay, Bobby. Just ghosts."  
  
"If you say so. Anyway, that reminds me." Hobbes turned from the window and   
raised his voice to catch the Keeper. "You get anything back on the Brothers   
Draven, Claire?"  
  
"Eberts did, actually." Claire left the mini-lab and migrated to her laptop.   
"Pulling it up now. Your cabbie, Chris, he was a small-time con man."  
  
"How small time?" asked Hobbes, while at the same time Darien said, "I could've   
told you that."  
  
"Let's just say compared to him, Darien here was a master criminal."  
  
"Hey!"  
  
"Begging your pardon. At any rate," Claire continued, "the interesting stuff   
comes up with regard to his brother Eric."  
  
"Knew that guy wigged me out. Bobby Hobbes has intuition. So who is this   
character?"  
  
"You've stumbled onto a true rock-and -roll legend, boys. He's either Jim   
Morrison, OJ Simpson, or a host of other archetypes, depending on who you   
believe."  
  
"Say what?" Darien flipped around in his chair, sitting backwards as he faced   
the Keeper.  
  
"Well, two years ago, October, Eric Draven, guitarist for Hangman's Joke, was   
reported the victim of a double homicide." Claire winced as she read. "Nasty   
stuff. He was thrown through a 16-story window, and his girlfriend, Shelly   
Webster, was . . . not well treated. She died in the hospital."  
  
"Getting the feeling there's more to this."  
  
Claire smiled her Mona-Lisa smile. "Oh, definitely. A year after the murder,   
give or take a few days, the local police ran prints matching his. After that,   
we've got little until he was tried for his girlfriend's murder."  
  
"I was wondering about that," Hobbes put in. "I mean, guy shows up after a   
year, fakes his death, girl's dead - I think two things. Either he killed her,"  
  
"Or he's on the run from the guys who did." Fawkes finished for him. "So was he   
convicted?"  
  
"Yes, but the evidence was terribly flimsy, and the verdict was overturned. Oh,   
and there are one or two accounts of vigilantism attributed to him too. These   
were pretty tough to find. Eberts says it looked like someone tried to flush   
out the system."  
  
"Huh," Darien mused. "Maybe he did run, and felt guilty. Maybe he's trying to   
make up." That struck a chord with the kid, Hobbes could tell, but now the   
Bobby Hobbes brain was working overtime.  
  
"Vigilantism, huh? Anything out of the ordinary? Stronger than he shoulda been,   
faster, anything?"  
  
"Well, yes, a little, Bobby - something of the sort's mentioned in both   
accounts, but . . . How did you know?"  
  
"Okay, then we got possibility number 3. Our Eric's an experiment, just like   
Fawkes." To two blank stares, he responded, "Think about it. Grabbed,   
girlfriend killed. Gone a year, shows up again. Fights crime. Records are   
suppressed. A year's enough time for him to be altered and bust out. Unless,   
of course, Robocop's doing just what he was made to do."  
  
"Robocop?" This from Darien, but not half as sarcastically as Bobby expected.   
  
"Figure of speech. Heck, maybe animal DNA or something. You tell me he didn't   
have a weird vibe goin' on with that bird."  
  
"I thought it was cool."  
  
"Oh, yeah."  
  
"Well, you boys met the man," Claire said, rolling her eyes at Bobby, who   
decided to take it as a sign of affection. "Did he seem dangerous to you?"  
  
"Don't know about dangerous," Fawkes replied. "More like intense. And not like   
the lifers I met in the joint, either." He rubbed his neck, thinking.   
"Conviction was overturned, right? That's more than I got out of the system, and   
I sure as hell wasn't guilty." To two sidelong looks, he said, "What? That   
time, okay?"  
  
"Yeah, well, I trust your gut, kid, but I dunno. Still, he's worked with that   
cop before. Bet my life on it. On the third hand," he said, getting looks in   
turn, "doesn't mean they're both good guys." Hobbes looked at Claire, wondering   
if she knew that was one of his favorite pastimes. "You got the tranqs, Keepy?"  
  
"Always. But, and I can't stress this strongly enough, I made these up   
especially to take down a big cat. Try not to shoot each other. This amount of   
tranquilizer could stop your heart. Don't even shoot the tiger twice if you can   
help it."  
  
Darien fixed her with his best grin. "I'll be good, Ma."  
  
"Well, if you can't be good, at least be careful."  
  
As they left for the garage, Fawkes elbowed Hobbes and asked, "So was that your   
big theory? We're here looking up another human experiment?"  
  
"Actually, it was way down the list, but I'm liking its chances."  
  
"Do I wanna know what else was on that list?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
* * *  
  



	4. Redeye Flight - 3/8

  
* * *  
3/8  
  
The powder blue van lumbered up the mansion drive, through the gates and next to   
the detective's sedan. Albrecht, warrant in hand, met them at the front door.  
  
"Paperwork squared away?"  
  
"Yeah. Good luck on the easter egg hunt, but we're lucky if we get to see   
anything beyond the cat h- I mean, enclosure. This bastard's got some friends   
in high places."  
  
"He was gonna say cat house, wasn't he?"  
  
"I think so."  
  
Albrecht ignored them. Annoying they might be, but they were among the more   
helpful of the feds he'd had to deal with. "So, you guys can tell me if this is   
all to code, right?" Fawkes looked at Hobbes, who faced the detective and said,   
"Absolutely. 'S what we do."  
  
As Albrecht walked inside, Darien asked, "We can?"  
  
"I can, anyway. What, you think this is the first time we've had to pay rent,   
Fawksey? You know better."  
  
"Yeah, well, inspecting the kitty pens at the zoo isn't exactly..."  
  
"Oh, you better hope we never gotta do the zoo again."  
  
"Again?"   
  
Hobbes let the statement hang in the air as they followed the policeman, who   
presented the warrant to Marc St. Germaine himself.  
  
"I regret this," the grey-haired man said. "Truly. I do not know how this   
tragedy occurred. I merely want my Czarina back. Ah, I do not know if these   
made it onto the system yet, but here are my permits for Czarina and her mate.   
Do you know when he might be delivered, by the way?"  
  
Hobbes took the papers, noticing a slight tremble to them as he did. He looked   
sharply up at the man, studying his face.  
  
"About the 12th," Fawkes replied, giving Hobbes a chance to watch the man as he   
was distracted. "Of never. Look, having a tiger is a big responsibility.   
Don't think you're going to be seeing bachelor #1 any time soon."  
  
"I would protest, but it seems rumors of my interest in pharmacology have-"  
  
"With all due respect," Albrecht replied, in a voice heavy with irony, "stuff   
it. Show us the pens, and we'll see just how good you are at housekeeping."  
  
The aristocratic man winced, and made a sweeping motion. "Detective, Agents,   
this way. And really, Detective, I doubt you'll get your department that gold   
star today. If I were engaged in crafting illicit substances, do you truly   
believe I'd keep my wares in a tiger pit?"   
  
All three ignored the arm, and St. Germaine sighed and led the way. As Hobbes   
checked the enclosure, he risked frequent glances at the drug dealer. The man   
seemed melancholy for a master criminal, especially when he gazed at spots the   
big cat had obviously frequented. He let the inspection take just long enough   
so that Darien had a chance to watch him too, in between a brief appearance and   
disappearance. Then he came back to the owner of the beast.  
  
"OK, Germy,"  
  
"St. Germaine"  
  
"Whatever. This place checks out. So, how do you suppose your tiger ended up   
mauling yon jogger?"  
  
It was a very pale St. Germaine who answered, "I have no idea."  
  
* * *  
  
Once outside again, Albrecht stopped the pair.  
  
"So that's it?"  
  
"Not quite, my friend, not quite." Hobbes turned to his partner. "So, you   
notice anything weird about that guy?"  
  
"Well, he kept . . . looking at me." Darien shrugged. "I think maybe he's   
gay."  
  
"You think?"  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"Little light in the loafers?"  
  
"I think so."  
  
Hobbes noticed the detective getting impatient again. "What else?"  
  
"He's slimy, and dirty as all hell, but smart."  
  
"And he's scared," Albrecht added. Hobbes nodded approvingly, which seemed to   
annoy the cop, but he continued. "He's afraid of something. Hell if I know   
what, though. Legally, we're hogtied, at least for now."  
  
"Maybe he thinks kitty's gonna get back at him for years of ill-treatment?"  
  
"You said everything looked fine."  
  
"Yeah, now. But a guy with his filthy lucre's got the cash to rebuild a damaged   
enclosure between when the cat busted out and now."  
  
"Hobbes, did you just say lucre?"  
  
"Lucre, moolah, cash, whatever, Fawkes. Point is, three things could've   
happened. Either someone let the cat out on purpose, in which case the   
detective here can get 'em on some kinda negligent homicide, or likewise if they   
left the door open by accident. Or, the cat was so badly off she busted out   
herself, and they've fixed everything up since. All depends what kind of shape   
she's in when we find her."  
  
"Yeah, well, we've gotta find her first." Albrecht slid into his car and picked   
up his cell phone. "I'll check back in with everybody. You guys . . . go have   
some lunch or something."  
  
"Any suggestions?"  
  
"Hey, I usually have hot dogs by the station. Don't look at me."  
  
"I think that'd be just about in our per diem, huh Bobby?"  
  
"Hot dog cart? Maybe. If we skip the sauerkraut." Bobby tapped the detective   
on the shoulder. "Hey, call us if she turns up. Otherwise, my partner and I   
are gonna check out the Pacific Northwest. Meet up this afternoon?"  
  
"Sure." Albrecht flipped his cell closed, shut his car door, and took off.   
Fawkes and Hobbes climbed into the van.  
  
"So, wanna go see what you can see?"  
  
"Hobbes, that place is huge."  
  
"So . . ."  
  
"So I didn't find anything before, and I'm on eight already. I get anywhere   
beyond what we've already seen and I might not make it out."  
  
"Oh. Crap. Okay, well, Claire's gonna have your juice pretty soon. Meanwhile,   
forget hot dogs. This ain't Seattle, but they gotta have decent sea food   
somewhere."  
  
"Lead on."  
  
As Bobby pulled the van out and headed back towards the city, he noted, "So, ex-  
con bird boy was conspicuously absent there."  
  
"Well, I don't think he's official. Plus, he's on tiger detail."  
  
"Yeah. Well, whatever his deal is, I hope he's having better luck than we are."  
  
"Couple hours, we'll know for sure."  
  
* * *  
  
At least it had stopped raining. The air was heavy, though, and wet. Eric   
followed the crow on the wing, as he'd done all day. Somehow he thought the   
bird seemed frustrated. Maybe he was just projecting. There would be the odd   
flash of vision from the flier, but never of the tiger itself. No more mauled   
humans, yet, but several large dogs and an errant deer had wound up on the   
striped cat's bad side. Dutifully, he called each in to Albrecht, who spread   
the news around. The latest location was far too close to Sarah's school for   
comfort, and he decided to hang around to give her a ride home. As he leaned   
his bike against a brick alley wall, the crow called once, and the ghost Kevin   
whispered "He's here."  
  
"Hey, Draven!" Darien Fawkes. Eric looked at the lanky agent, recalling the   
brother's warning. It was a puzzle. The pieces had strange edges. What had   
Kevin made? The tiger, somehow? Something else? //Save him. From what?//   
More disturbing; how did he know the dead man's name? Ice tickled his neck as   
Darien continued, "Hobbes sent me over to check in."  
  
"Coulda called."  
  
"Yeah, well, Hobbes wants to regroup. His exact words were, 'go check on the   
Crocodile Hunter, willya? I'll catch up.'" Darien grinned crookedly. "So, any   
luck?"  
  
"Not lately."  
  
"At least you're finding where she's been." Fawkes shrugged. "Shouldn't be too   
long now." A second later, a girl with blonde-streaked hair rounded the corner   
and came up on Eric. She blinked the setting sun out of her eyes. "Ick!   
Smells like dead dog over here."  
  
"Hate to break it to you, but it is dead dog. I wouldn't look around the next   
corner. How'd you know where I'd be?" Eric ruffled her hair as she considered   
the newcomer."  
  
"First convenient place outside 'loitering psycho' distance from school. Hey,   
who's your friend?"  
  
"I'm Darien." He smiled at her. "Charmed."  
  
"I'm sure," Sarah responded, but his smile was contagious, and she returned it.  
  
"Picking Sarah up from school," Draven explained to Fawkes, who shrugged. Then   
a low coughing roar echoed from no clear direction. Two sets of eyes went wide,   
and Sarah edged towards the bike.  
  
"Aw, crap." Fawkes pulled his tranquilizer gun. Eric scanned the alley and   
sought his familiar. Frustration answered. The roar sounded again.  
  
Then a piercing tone replied. The animal's noises became pained, and claws   
scraped asphalt, the sound becoming progressively softer as the beast ran away.  
  
"Do I have your attention? Good!" The muffled voice echoed off the alley walls.   
"Don't pursue the cat."  
  
"What the F-" began Darien and Sarah, then looked at each other. Eric shut his   
eyes and focused. The crow circled, searching.  
  
"Do I have your agreement?"  
  
"Why should we agree to anything?" Draven yelled back, opening his eyes.  
  
The response was gunfire.  
  
Sarah screamed, and Eric crumpled.  
  
* * *  
  



	5. Redeye Flight - 4/8

  
"Why should we agree to anything?" Draven yelled back, opening his eyes.  
  
The response was gunfire.  
  
Sarah screamed, and Eric crumpled.  
  
* * *  
4/8  
  
They'd missed Fawkes. Sarah hadn't been so lucky. She'd been grazed. And then   
there was Eric, who lay on the ground. Fawkes knelt, shaking, reliving a   
nightmare for the third time.  
  
"Draven! Eric! Eric, get up. Not again, dammit, not again"  
  
Eric's pain-glazed eyes rolled over to Sarah. She was biting her lip and blood   
was trickling down her arm. "No," he whispered.  
  
"I'll get her out of here. I'll get both of you out of here."  
  
Eric was shaking now. "Too late . . . Can't stop it . . . I'm sorry . . ."  
  
"Please, not again," Not another person bleeding in his arms, not Allianora, not   
Kevin again, not again. His thoughts ran in tight little circles, and he knew   
he'd have to vanish, because the men with guns would come to see what they'd   
hit. But he stayed, locked in a year past. "Please . . . you're gonna be okay   
. . . "  
  
Eric *twitched.* His face turned to Darien's. "Can't stop it now . . . tried   
so hard. Didn't . . . didn't want . . ." He raised slowly shaking hands before   
his eyes. ". . . enjoy the show . . ."  
  
There came a rasping noise, like the faintest of death rattles. Darien moaned   
wordlessly, wondering in the midst of new and remembered pain how a dying man   
had the strength to shield his face.  
  
Except that Eric wasn't dying anymore. He was standing, rising fluidly. His   
hands, still covering his face, had gone stark white.  
  
//What the *hell* // Heart hammering, Darien stood with him and backed up a   
step. An odd fear pulsed through him and through his gland, which sent silent   
pleas to the rest of his brain to let it do its job and protect him. "Eric, are   
you . . ."  
  
Eric's hands flew open, revealing a face as white as his hands, with eyelids and   
mouth pitch black. The black migrated out and down from his eyes, and turned up   
from his mouth in a parody of a grin.  
  
"Boo," he whispered.  
  
Darien jumped three feet and disappeared.  
  
"That's a new one," the Crow said. Then he pivoted and walked to the girl who   
held her arm tightly. He asked, softly, "Are you scared?"  
  
"Nah," she said calmly. "I know you're still Eric in there."  
  
"Even after what I've done? To Darryl? To Funboy?" Only one who could read the   
Crow like Sarah could see anxiety in the inhuman calm.  
  
"Wasn't you." Sarah took her hand from her wound and let it fall to the side.   
"You without Eric isn't really you, you get me?"  
  
"Either way - You have to know I love you. I'll never hurt you." He crouched   
and reached for her, one finger reaching for the cut on her sleeve. "I can   
help." He pressed down and Sarah took a breath.  
  
"It doesn't hurt! Hey, I didn't know you could do that."  
  
"Neither did I."  
  
The crow called. "He's still here, you know." Kevin's voice.  
  
The Crow stood. "Darien, how about you?" he said to the air.  
  
There was a faint musical sound. "Me neither," Fawkes said, appearing in a fall   
of silver flakes. Sarah just stared.  
  
Darien only had eyes for the pale, painted man. "Bobby was right. What the   
hell did they do to you?"  
  
"They?"  
  
"The white coats. The government, maybe."  
  
"Oh, man," Sarah said. "You're so far off . . ." She followed Darien's eyes to   
her friend who had a faraway look in his.   
  
"They're coming. Both of you hide."  
  
Sarah looked up and down the smooth alley. "Where?"  
  
Darien smiled if shakily, and pulled the girl to him against the wall. "Shh."   
And they both disappeared in a liquid rush as the first gunman rounded the   
corner.  
  
He was the first of two. But both had semi-automatics. //This could be a   
problem.// //Nothing we can't handle.// The Crow leapt two feet, grabbing a   
sodium-yellow streetlight. He swung forward, kicking the first in the head, but   
the second fired across his wrists and he was forced to drop. He still had time   
on the way down to grab the second gun in his feet and hurl it two yards.  
  
His hands were useless for now, but then, he hardly needed them. The second   
gunman settled into a fighting stance, but the black-clad apparition slid   
forward, under his blocks, to pin him to a wall with a foot to the neck.  
  
"Good night," the Crow said, and pressed slightly. The gunman crumpled as   
Albrecht and Hobbes, out of breath, turned the corner.  
  
Even if he hadn't been just close enough to see, Albrecht would have known by   
the body language that his friend's color was off. He rounded on Bobby. "Stay   
back, Agent Hobbes. I mean it!"  
  
"'Sokay, Detective." Fawkes' voice from the alley ahead of him. But no Fawkes   
in the alley. And then he was there, as *something* precipitated from him, and   
from a startled Sarah. "I think we're sharing now."  
  
"What the *hell?*"  
  
Fawkes looked at him. "My thoughts exactly."  
  
Hobbes had been edging around the two, and now he was clear. If he'd been told   
to stop, there was something here he had to see. Draven was facing away, but at   
a harsh birdcall, he turned.  
  
Eric resembled nothing so much as an evil mime. Hobbes took a breath to make a   
remark about the makeup, when it was sucked into the other man's face. The   
black around the eyes and mouth contracted, the white flushed almond. Eric's   
posture changed, relaxed, like Darien's when . . . .  
  
When he'd gotten a last-minute shot in the arm.  
  
"I knew it!" Hobbes turned back to the group, walking up to Albrecht and   
standing an inch away. "What are you, his control? Because if I were putting   
him in Civvie life, that's how I'd do it. Place an agent in law enforcement -   
hell, it's almost the same job."  
  
"Even though I don't know what the hell you're talking about-"  
  
"Yeah, right," Hobbes snorted.  
  
"It's pretty obvious you do. And that it's got something to do with Claude   
Raines, here." Albrecht jerked his head at Darien.  
  
"Yeah," Sarah said. "What gives? Darien was Made in the USA, wasn't he?"  
  
"Sharp kid," Darien said, smiling down at her.  
  
Then Eric rejoined the group, and conversation ceased. Into the silence, he   
offered, "My ears were burning?"  
  
"Don't know why," Darien said. "The detective and Sarah here just made this my   
interrogation."  
  
"Oh. Look, about what just . . ."  
  
Darien held up a hand and shot a look at Hobbes that said "Trust me." Then he   
met Eric's eyes. "I don't want to know, okay. Lab rat to lab rat. It's your   
business."  
  
"But-"  
  
"Hobbes, it's his business, all right?"  
  
"Okay, partner. Lab rat to lab rat. Your call." Hobbes sounded resigned.   
"But I'd still like to know who's pulling his strings."  
  
"You and me both," Eric muttered. Hobbes stared at him. Then he heard a   
familiar "Aw crap," and turned to see Darien holding his neck.  
  
"Aw crap," he echoed.  
  
Through gritted teeth, Darien choked, "Had to keep me and the kid see-through.   
You better call Claire . . ." Then he screamed, collapsing. His gun skidded   
away and Hobbes grabbed it. Sarah jumped back and Eric ran to the fallen man's   
side. Hobbes had beaten him there. The agent looked at the dark enigma, and   
before dialing his cell, managed, "Stay back. Dangerous."  
  
Not moving, Eric responded, "So am I."  
  
There was no more time. Hobbes got out "Code red. We're coming in," and then   
the cell was dashed from his hands. Darien's eyes were open, and filled with   
blood.  
  
"Hey, now. No need to get Claire involved. We're doing just fine, aren't we?"  
  
"You're far from fine, my friend, and you know it."  
  
"Yeah, but I'm getting better all the time." Fawkes rose smoothly from his   
crouch. His head swayed slowly and his black-on-red eyes fixed on Draven.   
"What the HELL are you looking at?"  
  
"You tell me," Eric said, carefully, neutrally.  
  
Albrecht, meanwhile, had gone beyond uneasy. "Agent Hobbes! What the hell's   
going on here?"  
  
"Get the kid out of here," Hobbes responded. "Kid, you go with your friend,   
okay?"  
  
"Yeah, RUN!" Darien shouted, smiling wildly. Then he forced his eyes shut,   
trembling. When they opened, they were sane. "Run . . ." he gasped, falling   
again. Sarah didn't need to be told a fourth time. She was already to the   
detective, whose gun was trained on Fawkes as he backed up.   
  
Hobbes had his cuffs out and ready. He risked a glance at Draven. "Enhanced   
strength? Endurance?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"You're gonna need it. You gotta help me get him to the van."  
  
"Oh, no, not the van." Darien's voice was mocking now, and his eyes held little   
humanity. "Detective, don't let these bad men take me to the van."  
  
"Can't we tranq him?"  
  
"Tiger tranqs. Doc says they might kill a human being."  
  
"Terrific."  
  
"You two ladies done?" Darien asked. "Because I've got places to be." Silver   
flowed over him and flushed clear.  
  
"Oh no you don't," Hobbes replied, executing a foot sweep where Fawkes' legs   
had to be. He heard a thud, and the quicksilver flaked away. "Bastard,"   
Darien growled, and leapt up again, lunging at his partner and going for the   
throat. Deja vu all over again . . .  
  
Then he was pulled off, ripped away by Eric, who shoved him back to the ground,   
a knee in his back. "Stay!" Fawkes howled like a hound and bucked. Eric   
shifted for a better grip, and dead flesh touched living.  
  
Suddenly the battle was on two fronts. Eric's body fought to subdue Darien   
Fawkes, and his mind fought a flood of vicious memory. Such good in this man,   
and such evil. Coexisting, waiting, killing, sobbing in remorse. Eric's hands   
held, but his mind was washed back, and the crinkling dead sound of his change   
whispered against Fawkes' inhuman growls. The Crow searched the memories as he   
fought, looking for something that would reach the man.   
  
Then he felt the cold again. Kevin Fawkes, very close, almost within. The image   
of a key.  
  
"Even your red-cold heart has a key." The Crow forced Fawkes up, and Darien   
kicked backwards, twisting, stronger than a live man had a right to be.   
  
"Did I mention I really, really hate mimes?"  
  
The pale specter evaded the attack, whirling. He grabbed Fawkes again, forcing   
him against the brick wall. More images. More memories. Brutality, blindness,   
and Kevin. He ripped open Fawkes' shirt.  
  
"Oh, is that what you wanted." Fawkes grinned, blowing a kiss. "C'mon. C'mon,   
bitch." He licked his teeth. The Crow smiled back.   
  
"You're not my type." He grasped the golden key hanging from the madman's neck.   
Love. Sacrifice. Pure. Perfect. The force of it - beyond madness, beyond   
death. It stunned him. He slackened his grip and Fawkes reached for his   
throat. His hands closed tight, and with his last bit of air, the Crow gasped   
four words.  
  
"Don't need to breathe." With that, one hand closed around the key and the   
other grasped Fawkes' face. //Jessica...// Memories flooding, cresting. Love.   
Jessica. Run! I don't want to hurt you. Don't want . . . No! Ralph. Always.   
The kid. You'll catch up. Paint. Run Jessica.  
  
"Jessica!" Darien cried. His eyes streamed silver and he crumpled. "Jessica,   
get away. I can't fight this much longer . . . Jessica, I love you. . ."  
  
"Fight," the Crow said softly. "Fight for her . . ."  
  
Time is subjective. Hobbes had had time only to recover breath and stand before   
Darien screamed. He started forward, and Albrecht restrained him.  
  
"What's he doing to him!? Dammit, what is he doing! Albrecht!"  
  
"More than we can. No more than he has to." //I hope.//  
  
"All her love . . . All for you," the Crow whispered, feeding it to Darien,   
feeling what he channeled. It was beautiful. To him, it was magic. Together   
they moved, slowly, to the alley mouth. And then Kevin touched him again, and   
suddenly Fawkes felt his brother.  
  
//Sorry . . . so sorry . . .// Darien gave a strangled sob, red eyes going wide.   
Then he stiffened and fell from the dead man's grasp. Hobbes broke away from   
the detective, moving to confront the apparition.  
  
"What did you do? Tell me!"  
  
Depthless black eyes met brown, sending a chill direct to Bobby's soul through   
those windows. "Memories of love have power." Then, with inhuman grace, he   
knelt. "That last wasn't me." He turned Fawkes on the ground. Embedded in the   
man's neck was a dart with a clear center. Dripping off the plastic wall were   
traces of blue. Hobbes grabbed for Fawkes' right wrist. Three segments were   
back to green.  
  
"Way to go, Claire," Bobby shouted, standing and looking around. No Keeper in   
sight. "Um, Claire? Claire, you can come out now . . ."  
  
Darien's cell phone rang. "Hobbes."  
  
"Bobby, it's Claire. When are you coming in? How close is he? I'll meet you   
in the garage if I have to, just get here! Is Darien all right? Bobby!"  
  
"Aw, crap."  
  
* * *  
  



	6. Redeye Flight - 5/8

Depthless black eyes met brown, sending a chill direct to Bobby's soul through   
those windows. "Memories of love have power." Then, with inhuman grace, he   
knelt. "That last wasn't me." He turned Fawkes on the ground. Embedded in the   
man's neck was a dart with a clear center. Dripping off the plastic wall were   
traces of blue. Hobbes grabbed for Fawkes' right wrist. Three segments were   
back to green.  
  
"Way to go, Claire," Bobby shouted, standing and looking around. No Keeper in   
sight. "Um, Claire? Claire, you can come out now . . ."  
  
Darien's cell phone rang. "Hobbes."  
  
"Bobby, it's Claire. When are you coming in? How close is he? I'll meet you   
in the garage if I have to, just get here! Is Darien all right? Bobby!"  
  
"Aw, crap."  
  
* * *  
5/8  
  
The van ride was quiet. Hobbes drove, and Eric sat in back, leaning against his   
motorcycle. Albrecht had left to take Sarah to the hospital, but from the look   
in his eyes he intended to catch up. Fawkes came around near the hotel, first   
seeing Eric's now flesh-toned face.  
  
The quicksilver-red memories began to align themselves. He remembered Bobby.   
He remembered hiding Sarah. He remembered a white death's mask where normal   
features now resided. And he remembered Jessica.  
  
"What are you?"  
  
"A Crow," the other responded. "Sarah explains it better than I do."  
  
Then he remembered Kevin. Darien inhaled and backed up against the van wall.   
"I think - I felt . . ."  
  
"Yeah." Eric watched the man. "He did this to you, didn't he? The change, the   
madness?" //Oh hell, what if it's stress-induced like me? This has gotta be   
like someone asking me about Shelly way back when.//  
  
"The invisibility," Fawkes responded, nothing of the madman in him now. "The   
rest was . . . someone else. Look, this is all really kinda classified. Not   
that you don't have your own secrets." Eric was saved from the implied   
invitation as he felt the van slow.  
  
Hobbes pulled into a parking space and moved to the back. "What's going on   
here? You wanna tell me what was up with the Vulcan Mind-Meld yet, Spock?"  
  
"I can't really explain it in words."  
  
"Try." Hobbes' voice was steel.  
  
"I have tried. You wouldn't understand."  
  
"Then show me." Hobbes closed his eyes. He summoned all his training, all his   
walls against tampering and thought reform. They were all washed away by a cool   
hand on his face and the image of a hyper-real forest, a bridge, and a woman in   
white. Hobbes opened his eyes and gasped like a swimmer coming up for air.   
"The Russians were playing with psychics as early as the fifties," Bobby   
murmured to himself, "but they kept it up through the Vietnam war, for sure . .   
." He looked at Eric, who gave him no help.  
  
"You and I both know that wasn't Russia, and it sure wasn't Vietnam." And   
uncharacteristically, Bobby made no response.   
  
Then Claire was at the van, syringe in hand. She looked Eric up and down before   
focusing on Darien.  
  
"How do you feel?" She checked his monitor and other vitals before finding a   
vein in his arm.  
  
"Crappy," Fawkes said, and realized he'd chorused with Bobby and Claire. He   
smiled sheepishly. "C'mon, guys, am I that predictable?"  
  
Hobbes relaxed a little bit. Quicksilver hangover seemed to be wearing off; his   
partner was coming back. Surreptitiously, he felt for a small brown bottle, and   
pushed thoughts of life and death as far away as the pills would let him, as   
Claire said to Darien, "C'mon. You need to rest up a little. Let's get you   
upstairs. Big game hunt's off for now."  
  
"I'll come too," Eric said, then noticed the gun in Hobbes' hand.  
  
"Wouldn't have it any other way."  
  
* * *  
  
"Um, Hobbes,"  
  
"Don't start, kid. He messed with both our heads."  
  
The gun rested under Bobby's jacket. Eric didn't look at all uneasy, rather   
vaguely amused.  
  
"Look, Hobbes,"  
  
"Fawkes, I know, but we're getting his story. And I'm gonna like it before we go   
back a-huntin'"  
  
Hobbes opened the door, and Eric entered with an ironic shrug.  
  
"Hobbes!" Darien's frustrated exhalation stopped Bobby, and he motioned Draven   
into a chair.  
  
Hobbes sighed. "What?"  
  
"He's bulletproof."  
  
Hobbes looked down at his gun, then back at Fawkes. "Really?"  
  
Claire perked up. "Really?"  
  
Eric just sighed.  
  
"Then that means the only reason he's here . . ."  
  
"Is 'cause I wanna be. I want to know you're not a threat before I let you back   
out into my city." His eyes were locked with Fawkes' as Hobbes spoke. "Your   
city? What are you, Batman? Crow-man?" And Claire said, indignant, "What   
gives you the right !?"  
  
Eric ignored the both of them. Fawkes considered him for a beat before   
speaking. " I think if I show you mine, you better show me yours." Fawkes   
looked over at Claire, then back. "Why did I see Kevin when you touched me?"  
  
"Kevin sent me to you," Draven responded evenly. He got the expected eruption   
from the suite's two other inhabitants. Claire was inarticulate, while Hobbes   
said, "So you see dead people? What are you, John Edwards?"  
  
"He came to me this morning. He said his brother was coming. He said, 'save   
them from what I made.'"  
  
"And you did," Fawkes said softly, fingering the key around his neck.  
  
"You're not buying this crap, are you, Fawkes?"  
  
Draven stared Hobbes down. "I showed you the Land of the Dead. You knew what   
it was; you've touched death before. If that didn't convince you, nothing's   
going to."  
  
"Yeah, well, all I know for sure is you somehow got into my brain. Now I don't   
even know if I'm thinking what I think I'm thinking."  
  
"That's the most paranoid thing I've ever heard."  
  
"Just wait 'till I get going."  
  
"Let's not," Claire said, stepping in, giving Hobbes an apologetic glance.   
"Boys, I feel like I've missed a few reels, but I'm getting the feeling Hobbes   
was right about you, Eric. Something changed you two years ago, something   
profound."  
  
"Something I don't like to discuss. Look, you can believe me or not, but before   
anyone leaves this room, I need to know about Mr. Hyde here. And I can stop   
you. Believe it." The crow landed on the windowsill. It cried out, and in one   
distracted instant, Eric took Hobbes' gun. He pocketed the bullets and handed   
it back, then sat back down. Hobbes shot him a look and, very deliberately,   
reloaded from his spares.  
  
"Well, fine. Look, guys, screw classified." Darien had hit annoyed. "We do   
still have a man-eating tiger to find, not to mention whoever shot me with   
counteragent . . ."  
  
"What?" said Claire, looking at Hobbes, who pulled out the empty dart.  
  
"I was getting to that, but this got all - look, I was getting to it, okay?"  
  
"Anyway," Fawkes continued, crossing the room to Draven and baring his wrist,   
"This little guy tells me how long I have left before I go nuts. Six days if I   
don't go see-through, thirty minutes invisible time. I go over without my meds,   
you see our friend from the alley again."  
  
"Guess you better not go over again."  
  
"You think I want that?"  
  
"It's awfully seductive, isn't it? I saw what it feels like for you. No   
conscience, no worries."  
  
Darien watched him, a light dawning. "Is that what your other half feels like   
too?"  
  
"It's not supposed to!"  
  
"But it has, hasn't it? Once or twice? You've lost control and you've liked   
it."  
  
Too much. This was too much. His pale, dead side clamored to be let out, to   
stop the pain. He took an unnecessary breath, focusing on the snake tattoo.   
//How appropriate . . .// Not this time. Control....  
  
Then a voice came from outside the door, and all turned. A girl, faint, but   
loud enough. "Lay off him, willya? He's been through Hell, okay!? Just lay   
off!" The voice became banging. Hobbes put his gun away, looked pointedly at   
Draven, and went to the door. He opened it, grabbed Sarah, and pulled her   
inside.  
  
"Kid? What're you ..."  
  
"Sarah, how'd you find us?"  
  
"Shouldn't've told Darryl where you were staying." She shook Bobby off, glaring   
around the room. "Look, 'cause I'm only gonna say this once. He didn't lose   
control. He got it taken away." Her eyes came to rest on Darien. "Unlike you,   
psycho isn't his default mode. No offense."  
  
"Hey, none taken."  
  
Rest of the room forgotten, Eric came and knelt beside her. "Sarah, what are   
you doing here? We don't know anything about these people. And your arm ..."  
  
"Eric, I think they're the good guys, OK? I mean, they got problems, sure. So   
do we. But we all gotta get our heads out of our collective-" She stopped at   
his raised eyebrow. "-problems, and figure out what the heck's going on."  
  
"Thank you," said an exasperated Claire, who turned from her makeshift lab,   
putting down the dart they'd recovered. "Because I've ..." But they were   
ignoring her as Eric checked her arm. The bullet scrape was gone. In its place   
was what looked to be a black feather tattoo.  
  
"Whoa. That's new."  
  
"Maybe when I took the pain... I better not do that a lot."  
  
"I like it. Hey," Sarah smiled up at him. "You said 'I.'"  
  
"Guess I did."  
  
"People!" And all heads turned to the Keeper. "Thank you. Eric, you're   
absolutely fascinating, and I mean no offense," she ignored Sarah's raised   
eyebrow, "but we've got bigger issues here. Darien, I want you to try   
quicksilvering your hand."  
  
Sarah mouthed 'Quicksilver?' and Eric shrugged.  
  
Darien held up a hand, watching it wash silver and disappear. Then he clapped   
his other hand over his mouth and ran for the bathroom. The silver shed on the   
way.  
  
"Ewww." Hobbes shuddered. "Partner, you okay in there?"  
  
"Urp...fine..."  
  
Claire sighed. "I was afraid of that. There was a chemical added to the   
counteragent in this syringe. It's an inhibitor of some sort. I wasn't sure if   
Darien would be able to quicksilver at all, but obviously..."  
  
"'Keep, how long's this gonna last?"  
  
"Probably no longer than your current dose of counteragent. I think.   
Meanwhile, try not to quicksilver unless you absolutely have to."  
  
"Hey, don't worry." Fawkes still looked slightly green.  
  
"What I'm worried about is that someone injected Darien with modified   
counteragent. You know who that implies."  
  
Hobbes sighed. 'Screw classified' was right. He shot a glance at the natives.   
"Look, you two, you gonna keep all this confidential? We're talking serious   
national security here."  
  
"Believe me," Sarah replied, "We're the last people that're gonna be blabbing   
about people with weird powers."  
  
"Albrecht needs to know what's going on. That's it." Eric scanned the room,   
losing focus as he saw Hobbes shrug with resignation. He thought he felt   
Kevin's touch again, cold on his neck, so intense it nearly burned. He   
shivered. There was something wrong, too much vengeance, and hatred. He   
thought suddenly of Chris, again, and the men who'd tried to kill his own   
brother. The feeling grew stronger. Eric became aware of Sarah watching him,   
and tried to shake it off.  
  
"Could be Lawson, could be the Chinese..." Hobbes trailed off.  
  
"Or it could be..." Claire continued,  
  
"Arnaud." Fawkes finished.  
  
"Aw, crap?"  
  
"Aw, crap."  
  
And another hand knocked on the door.  
  
* * *  
  



	7. Redeye Flight - 6/8

"Could be Lawson, could be the Chinese..." Hobbes trailed off.  
  
"Or it could be..." Claire continued,  
  
"Arnaud." Fawkes finished.  
  
"Aw, crap?"  
  
"Aw, crap."  
  
And another hand knocked on the door.  
  
* * *  
6/8  
  
"Port Columbia PD! Open up!"  
  
"Darryl?"   
  
"What, you're surprised? You sneak away from Albrecht on the way to the   
hospital, he's gonna come find you." Eric came back to himself and stood to get   
the door.  
  
"Yeah, kinda figured that out." Sarah's expression still held concern, but with   
it a healthy dose of annoyance.  
  
"What, everybody's listening at doors, now? What is this, a French farce?"   
Hobbes rolled his eyes.  
  
"Yeah, nice going, Mr. National Security."  
  
"What, this was my fault? Don't think so, Fawksey. You're the one who went   
see-through and nuts on the nice locals." Albrecht walked inside, and asked,   
"So who's Arnaud?"  
  
The name sent a pulse of burning cold through Eric again. Kevin wasn't even   
talking anymore. He was angry, dangerously angry, and Eric began to lose   
himself again. The black bird called, and he pulled himself back.  
  
"That's classified," Hobbes replied.  
  
"Classified? What could possibly be more classified than H.G. Wells over here?"  
  
"You don't need to -"  
  
"All right," the detective said. "Look, I liked you guys. I really did. But   
I'm fed up with all this cloak and dagger crap. You said somebody drugged your   
partner?"  
  
"You heard that too, did you?" Claire sighed.  
  
"So let's use Occam's Razor. Simplest explanation, right? Who do we know that   
makes designer drugs?"  
  
Hobbes and Fawkes chorused, "St. Germaine."  
  
The black bird took wing.  
  
* * *  
  
"Sarah, look, I'll buy your cab fare, just go home, will you?"  
  
"Darryl, just . . . look after Eric, okay? Something's up."  
  
Eric tried to focus as they approached the garage. Focus eluded him.   
//Arnaud.// Hatred. Not his own. Perversion of his blood, murderous rage.   
Dangerous feelings for ghosts. He willed his flesh to stay gold, and found   
Fawkes watching him.  
  
He looked at the lanky man. The thief. How did he know that? Kevin was too   
close. "Fawkes. Darien. I - I think I'm going to need your help. Kevin..."  
  
"Look, cut the psychic friends crap out." The amiable Fawkes had changed since   
that name had been spoken. Just the word seemed to change people. //Arnaud.//  
  
"Believe or not. Your choice, but Kevin, he's too angry." Eric spoke in quick   
sentences, forcing the words out. He was so cold. "I've felt this before.   
Once. Tried to turn me, take over. If this Arnaud is in on this - Kevin wants   
to kill. For you. You can't let him."  
  
Fawkes blinked rapidly. "You are crazy. You know, if you're so damned worried,   
you can stay here." He ended in a low growl.  
  
"Not an option. Not anymore. Just remember." Eric was drowning. He looked up   
at Darien through hooded eyes. "Don't let him kill. He'll be lost."  
  
The agents left in their van, and Albrecht in his car, returning to St.   
Germaine's. Sarah got in a taxi. And Eric looked at his bike. He fought the   
presence pushing in on him. Top Dollar, who'd killed him, whom he'd killed, had   
possessed him once, seduced him with music. Kevin surrounded him with righteous   
rage. He thought he was still fighting, but somewhere he'd lost track, because   
he wasn't in the garage any longer. He was riding through a mansion's gates.  
  
And, he noted dispassionately, looking at his pale, black-edged hands, he wasn't   
quite Eric any more.  
  
* * *  
  
The mansion was cold and dark, and empty of staff. //No live-in help? My   
favorite kind of estate.// Those same thief's instincts told Darien that there   
should, at the minimum, be security.  
  
"Fawkes! Get over here . . ."  
  
Darien found Bobby in the foyer. Hobbes knelt near a body, while Albrecht   
scanned the room, gun drawn.  
  
"St. Germaine?"  
  
"Oh, yeah."  
  
"Oh, crap." Fawkes looked at Albrecht. "Look, Occam's razor, it's pointing to   
Arnaud right now, so you really oughtta know he goes invisible, like me."   
  
Albrecht's eyes widened. He turned in a slow circle, gun drawn, searching the   
darkened mansion. "And that helps how?!"  
  
"Well," A lilting accent called from up a winding staircase, "I suppose it will   
make you feel a little less stupid when you get shot." Albrecht, not stupid,   
dove for cover behind a column, as did Fawkes and Hobbes. Fawkes quicksilvered   
his eyes, and caught a flash of pink before he doubled over.  
  
"Was he on your list?" Fawkes asked, as a bullet chipped marble near his thigh.  
  
"Number two," Hobbes allowed, then, to Darien's stare, said, "Chrysalis, okay?   
They were number one. I was close!" He ducked two more shots, then hollered,   
"Why St. Germaine, Arnie?"   
  
"Fun as it is to see Fawkes nauseated, Marc didn't perform to my satisfaction.   
I wanted a real Quicksilver inhibitor, not an emetic. I had higher hopes for   
poor Germy. I did think he wanted to see his beloved Czarina again."  
  
"See . . . but you don't have the . . ." Fawkes looked at Hobbes. Hobbes   
looked at Fawkes. "Aw crap," they chorused. "The tiger's invisible."  
  
"You put a gland in the tiger!? Why!?"  
  
"Hobbes, I thought you said you knew how I thought." The voice was closer now.   
"Two reasons. Can you guess?"  
  
"Leverage. You wanted to be the only one that could get her back," Hobbes   
began,  
  
"That, and beta testing," Arnaud finished. "Sad to say, the emetic properties   
of the inhibitor made the poor dear rather ill. I don't think that jogger   
stayed down. Thank you, by the way, for allowing me to test it in a human with   
the gland."  
  
"Oh man," Darien said, "You really have Dr. Evil's disease, don't you? You   
realize you just told us your whole plan, right?"  
  
"What does it matter? I'm going to walk out one of these doors and get away, if   
I'm lucky I can shoot Hobbes, and I'll pick up elsewhere. This is over." A   
black bird flew in through a high window, and punctuated the statement with a   
caw.  
  
Swallowing hard, Darien tapped Hobbes on the shoulder, then quicksilvered   
Hobbes' eyes and the bridge of his nose. Hollow-faced, Bobby tried hard to   
ignore the gagging noises as he scanned the room, attempting to aim. A pink   
silhouette aimed back at him, point blank . . .  
  
* * *  
  



	8. Redeye Flight - 7/8

Swallowing hard, Darien tapped Hobbes on the shoulder, then quicksilvered   
Hobbes' eyes and the bridge of his nose. Hollow-faced, Bobby tried hard to   
ignore the gagging noises as he scanned the room, attempting to aim. A pink   
silhouette aimed back at him, point blank . . .  
  
* * *  
7/8  
  
As a motorcycle blew through the mansion doors, a ghost on its back.  
  
Arnaud transferred his aim, which was the last Hobbes could see before Darien   
gave out and sank to his hands and knees.  
  
"Nice entrance," the Swiss man said. "Very Meatloaf." He took aim at the   
white-faced unknown, shedding quicksilver from the gun to fire.  
  
As Arnaud raised his gun, Kevin saw what he'd been waiting for. He took his   
opening, merging fully, and the Crow stiffened even as he lunged for the   
terrorist, taking an insignificant bullet. The Crow felt cold flames that were   
nothing like Top Dollar's slow seduction. They were every part of Eric that   
loved his own brother mated to all Kevin's anger and guilt. Fire, not music.   
Knowledge and pain. The Crow wasn't driving anymore, and neither was his better   
half.  
  
The crow couldn't see Arnaud. The Crow couldn't see Arnaud. But Kevin could.   
And he knew what he wanted.  
  
To everyone who could not see, the pale creature danced with himself, whirling   
and kicking, coat flying behind. With Kevin's eyes, Eric saw his murderer   
beaten back, until little fight remained. Darien's madness rushed back to him   
with Kevin's pain. It pooled in his hands as he took Arnaud down.  
  
//Now.//  
  
Knees on Arnaud's chest, the Crow grabbed the man's head. Through his fingers   
he poured all the betrayal, all the pain, the shots to the chest, the perversion   
of Kevin's blood at the hands of the man he held at his mercy. //No mercy.//   
All the madness, all the anguish the Crow had felt from Darien trying to stay   
sane. All the pain. All of it.  
  
Arnaud screamed and the onslaught stopped. He looked up at the apparition with   
eyes still disturbingly clear.  
  
"So," the mercenary said, still supine, "That is what it felt like to be shot in   
the chest. Excruciating. But then it isn't really on my to-do list. And the   
headaches are almost as painful as advertised. Not crippling enough, though - a   
mistake on my part."  
  
"What are you? How can you not feel . . ."  
  
"Oh, please," Arnaud said, his head still between the Crow's white hands,   
causing ice to coat them. "Do you really believe I'd have chosen bioterrorism   
as a career if I had any capacity to comprehend human misery?"  
  
"I can't make you feel."  
  
"Feel pain? Absolutely. Feel sorry? No. I don't think you can."  
  
"But I can break your neck."  
  
"Then what was that little psychodrama? After all that, you'd kill in cold   
blood?"  
  
"I can be convinced. And frankly, it's hard not to kill when a ghost is   
whispering that I have to." A true, frightening smile spread across the Crow's   
face as black tears gathered in his eyes. "Kevin wants you dead. I don't know   
if I should fight him any more." And Arnaud finally looked scared.  
  
"Kevin?" Darien whispered. Hobbes stared at him as he rose. Albrecht just   
watched. "Kevin, this feels wrong. Don't do this for me."  
  
"Anything done out of love . . ." the Crow began,  
  
"Is beyond good and evil," Darien finished with him. "Kevin, that's . . .   
Nietzsche was full of crap. This is evil. If Arnaud dies here, like this, and   
God knows I want him gone for what he did to you . . ." Darien's voice broke.  
  
"You're supposed to be convincing me," the Crow said softly, turning Arnaud's   
head slowly left, then right. Ice crept up his wrists.  
  
"Kevin, you'll damn yourself! Don't do this! Let Eric go, please! Let . . . "   
Darien looked at the ground and whispered, "Let Arnaud go. I'll find him again,   
I swear. Don't make Eric do this. Please."  
  
The Crow lifted trembling hands away. "That did it." He rolled backwards,   
slowly, and stood, hands held to either side, a barrier between the terrorist   
and the agent.   
  
Arnaud stood. "Closer than I'd like."  
  
"Get out of here before I kill you myself," Darien growled.  
  
"Not sane, you won't," Arnaud said. "And you have plenty of time left sane and   
nauseous - that, I know." Abruptly, the voice became footsteps, running rapidly   
in the other direction. Tinkling glass gave away his exit, and all ran to   
follow.  
  
Until they heard the roaring and the scream.  
  
Darien's smile was cold. "Good kitty." But the scream was followed by a   
gunshot and a whimper.  
  
Hobbes wrapped his sport coat around his arm and cleared out the window frame.   
He was the first onto the grounds, the first to find Czarina, now visible,   
silver and red in the moonlight. "Aw, man. Poor thing." The tiger whined.   
"She's still alive!"  
  
"Is Arnaud?" Albrecht, next through the window, pointed to one of Czarina's   
paws. It was crimson, and a bright red stain shed silver nearby. But then a   
helicopter rose from behind the trees.  
  
"You had to ask," said the painted Crow, watching Hobbes on his phone. He   
turned to Albrecht. "I should go. I'm neither fish nor fowl."  
  
"No comment." The detective sighed. "Just - check in with Sarah, will you?   
She's worried."  
  
"It's okay," he said, eyes moving to Fawkes. "Kevin's not here anymore."  
  
Darien looked at the creature that was sometimes Eric Draven. "We . . . we need   
to talk."  
  
"Then we'll talk. But not here." And he was gone. And Darien Fawkes moved to   
join his partner, who appeared to be talking to the Keeper.  
  
"Yeah, Claire. An inhibitor. Yeah, he wanted it real bad. Whaddaya mean,   
why?"  
  
* * *  
  



	9. Redeye Flight - 8/8 - Epilogue

* * *  
8/8 - Epilogue:  
  
//An old curmudgeon named Andy Rooney once said "I don't believe in the   
inevitability of death. I secretly believe there must be some other way out."   
Now, I know he was being facetious, but I'm wondering if he wasn't closer to   
truth than he knew. All I'm certain of, though, is that Port Columbia rocked my   
assumptions about life and death harder than Simon Cole ever did.//  
  
Darien walked out of the elevator and down the thin hallway. Once he'd had the   
address from Claire, he hadn't needed the apartment number. A look at the   
broken window on high gave the former thief all the visual cues he needed.  
  
//"You're going alone?" Bobby had said, incredulous. "That guy...he's..."   
Bobby tapered off  
  
"You don't know, do you? What he is?"  
  
"Thought I did, partner. Thought I did. But in this business you learn to be   
afraid of the unknown, too."  
  
"I'm going. Trust me, okay?"  
  
Hobbes had looked at Darien, and replied, "Always."//  
  
Fawkes knocked on the narrow door. A second later, it opened, and Fawkes   
stepped into Eric's loft. The black-haired man was holding a black guitar by   
the neck, and he leaned it on one of the low steps leading to the broken round   
window.  
  
"Cold in here," Fawkes said.  
  
Eric fixed him with a long look and then walked to the fireplace. "I don't   
generally notice."   
  
"Yeah, why is that, exactly? After all this crap, and Kevin...//God,   
Kevin//...I think I deserve some answers."  
  
"I can only give you answers if you're willing to believe them."  
  
Fawkes sat on the steps and looked across the room. "Like the man said, 'I want   
to believe.'"  
  
Eric struck a match and tossed it on the tinder inside. As the fire caught, he   
turned and crouched. The flames backlit him, and even in the bright, spare   
apartment, his face seemed shadowed. "You know the story, right? I got the   
impression you'd been doing some research."  
  
"Oh, yeah. But it says you either faked or survived that." Darien motioned at   
the window behind him.  
  
"Easy answer. I didn't."  
  
"Didn't which?"  
  
"Didn't both." Eric shook his hair out of his eyes, then tilted his head down   
and looked up. "You know what you felt, what you saw. You know it was real.   
There's more than one kind of restless soul. Sometimes, only sometimes, they   
come back as Crows." The black bird sailed in on those words. "Do you mind?"   
he asked it, as it walked between the two. "I'm trying to make a point here."   
The bird hopped to a chair top and preened. "That's it. Believe it or not."  
  
"Why you? And why...why was Kevin like that?"  
  
"Death changes you," Eric said simply. "I was pretty pissed when I got back.   
Killed a few people, killed the man who did this to me. Just kept setting me   
back. I've been used, too, for some pretty evil stuff."  
  
"I know what it's like to be evil. And to be used."  
  
"I saw." Eric watched Darien. "Look, believe them or not, those are all the   
answers I've got."  
  
"Not all." Darien Fawkes took a deep breath and got down to it. "I want you to   
show me Kevin. Like you did with Jessica's key, with what she felt."  
  
"Fawkes, I see from what I've touched. When I touched you I got his death."   
Eric's clear dark eyes held pain. "That's all I've got for you."  
  
Resolve hardening his voice, Darien replied, "Then show me that."  
  
Fawkes stood, walking forward, and Eric unfolded himself. Fawkes extended a   
hand. Eric clasped it in his own. Head jerking up and sideways, Eric found the   
moments of Kevin Fawkes imprinted on his brother. //You were always smarter   
than me.// He held the pain back, and only let go the love and regret. Darien's   
eyes widened...  
  
And Eric stiffened again, going hot and cold by turns. Kevin was back, was   
within again, so suddenly that he had no defense. But this, this was different.   
No anger, merely sorrow, and guilt.  
  
//I'm sorry.// The voice resonated between them. //Sorry I used you. Both of   
you. Love you, little brother... be seeing you ...// No threat, just promise   
and suffusing warmth, melting away the chill, then fading.  
  
Darien let go, trembling, panting. He focused on what his brother had taught   
him about finding calm, and it came, slowly. He looked at the dead man in front   
of him, and tried to find the words.  
  
It might have been a moment or an eternity before Darien could whisper "Thank   
you."  
  
* * *  
  
It was the same cab that picked Fawkes and Hobbes up at the Motel 6, taking a   
sober pair of Feds back to the airport. The cab stand where he stopped was   
nearly deserted; the two had another redeye back. Hobbes took the bags out of   
the trunk and headed towards the terminal. Fawkes hung back, sitting in the   
passenger seat. He glanced at the brown-haired driver.  
  
"Chris, I met Eric. I...know about him, okay?" Darien took a deep breath. "You   
didn't come back while he was alive, did you?"  
  
"I was in jail when he got killed," Chris said. The cabbie turned to face him.   
"It's the damndest thing. Sometimes they die on you. And sometimes, they come   
back."  
  
Fawkes sat for another few seconds in the seat of the taxi. Airplanes shuddered   
in the dark, and headlights striped the darkened terminal with transient   
brightness.  
  
"Fawkes! Time to go!"  
  
"Right! Coming!" He swung his long legs out of the cab and followed his   
partner home.  
  
--  
END /TMF  
  
* * *  
Author's footnote:  
  
You thought I forgot, didn't you? Remember the Author's Note, "This 'fic takes   
place approximately one month following the events in the Crow series finale (?   
- more on this later)"  
  
It's later.  
  
I'll be honest. For two years, including most of the time I spent writing this,   
I've believed that this one-season show died, really died, with no producer-  
crows able to bring it back. Imagine my surprise (okay, shock,) when this May,   
I went to the Scifi B-Board and a post by our favorite insider Davron, which   
said that it looked like a new season would happen, possibly this year, and that   
if it did, Marc Dacascos would again star.   
  
From http://www.scifi.com/bboard/browse.cgi/1/5/1831/8028:  
"* The Crow: Stairway to Heaven: Appears to be making a return in 2k1. Despite   
the good rating when cancelled, Edward Pressman says they will take the show in   
a much darker direction. Draven will still be the driving force. Mark Dacasco is   
ready to return and has been contacted about the role. Due to return in the fall   
of 2k1. Getting the rights from Universal is taking forever."  
  
Thud  
  
Granted, this is almost unheard of. How many shows go on hiatus for this long?   
But if Davron says it could happen, it's at least possible. Keep a good thought   
for our boy in black and white, y'all.  
  
It can't rain all the time.  
--  
'Mad  



End file.
